


Recitation

by familyfunctions



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Dick with a Muslim background, Gen, Muslim Character, Muslim Damian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/familyfunctions/pseuds/familyfunctions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian is reading the Qur'an. Dick comes in and asks questions. It turns out they both share some traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narfiffiftic (maladictive)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/gifts).



> For Narfi who needs more Muslim Damian and Dick.

"So uh…"

Damian slowly looked up from his book. Grayson stood awkwardly in front of him, obviously trying to find words. Damian raised his eyebrows to show he was at least willing to listen to what his—-uh—-Batman was about to say.

“I noticed your current… reading material.”

Damian tensed just a little bit.

Not because he was ashamed. No. Never. He would read these words and memorize them and engrave them on his heart, just as Mother had, whispering into an ear a language he didn’t hear often enough anymore during their evenings together after training. Sitting on her bed or in her lap, smelling her familiar perfume and hearing her familiar voice.

It was ‘bad’ here. That was the impression he got. Even from people that considered themselves ‘tolerant.’ What was there to tolerate? Tolerate implied he was doing something that needed others’ acceptance. What was wrong with being a Muslim? What was wrong with reading from the Qur’an?

Nothing. That’s what.

It annoyed him… and it scared him a little bit that sometimes on the street he had the urge to hide the cover so that it wouldn’t draw attention.

But he would remember his mother’s face in those moments. He wasn’t about to hide his religion. It would be like hiding a piece of his happiness.

The memories of mother giving him treats and gifts when he had memorized surah.

… he missed that. He missed her.

“What?” Damian’s eyes narrowed going back to Grayson. He said it harsher than intended… but only because he had expected more from Grayson. That he didn’t think Grayson—Batman would have such a narrow view.

Grayson smiled softly, still awkward, “I don’t know much about it,” he admitted.

Damian paused… looked up at him. He looked for a trap and saw none.

“That seems like quite a hole in ‘Batman’s’ education,” and it wasn’t his job to fill it, he silently added.

“Yeah, a bit,” Grayson eased a bit seeing Damian was willing to talk, at least a little, “Bruce was never big on religion.”

“Was… was Father not religious?” Damian asked and felt a bit of hurt that he would never know his father’s stories first hand. That it all had to be passed down. He hadn’t ever thought his father was religious, but he would still like to hear… what he thought about it. He’d never have that conversation though.

Grayson looked up, “I wonder. I know he probably believed in something. His family was partially Catholic, but… I think he had his own way of looking at the universe. He’d certainly seen enough to develop his own philosophy.”

Damian leaned back in his chair. That certainly sounded like Father.

“What about you?” Damian asked, not just because it was polite, but because he was curious. Grayson, Richard was awkward in the line of questioning, but Damian sensed no malice, but there was something more than curiosity.

“Me? Oh… I don’t know… nothing organized… but…”

“But?”

“You’re ten, and you probably know all the words, huh?”

 

Damian looked down at the Qur’an. His mother had given it to him. It was small and worn, and very cherished.

“Just about.”

“My Dad, he knew a lot of the words too,” Grayson said, reminiscence on his face, “He would tell passages that his Mom told him… I mean… probably a bit more colourful, I don’t think he had a physical copy… and if he did he probably never used it.”

 

Damian stared at him in surprise. “You’re Muslim?”

“Dad was, I think he was… I don’t remember,” Grayson said sadly, and Damian suddenly understood. Grayson was young when his parents died. He was never taught to remember word for word like Damian. Damian could imagine Grayson’s father, probably an older, but just as jovial version of Richard grinning and telling this and that to the boy who would be Robin. And they would be caught up in it and it wouldn’t be about the words, but about the thrill, about the way it was told. About the warm kitchen or the long drive. The father preaching and the son listening, but listening because it was his father.

He probably remembers the smiles and the voice, but none of the ayah.

“You never pursued it?”

“I never did,” Grayson admitted, “It was too far away by the time I came back to it.”

Damian wanted to say he was wrong, it was never too far away, but he could understand at the same time. Islam didn’t ground Dick. Right now it was only a happy memory that connected him to his father.

“I’ll recite it to you… if you like. I need to practice my surahs, and if you’re quiet you won’t be overly bothersome. It’s meant to be heard anyway.”

That was a tradition that both of them shared. Damian’s mother and Grayson’s father telling these words and revelations to their children.

Grayson slowly sat down. He had been standing the whole time.

“Alright, I’d like to hear you.”

Damian wondered if this would be to hear the words, or to hear Damian… or maybe to hear John Grayson in those words. Damian decided none of the options were unpleasant ones.


End file.
